


Blood Rising

by rivers_bend



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kensi's punching bag is in her apartment. Episode coda for 1.21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 1.21

Sam would be using the bag at the office, Kensi knew, Callum sitting somewhere nearby, watching, feeling helpless. Helpless to do anything more for Sam than he'd done, helpless to do anything at all for Dom. They'd found him—finally found him—and now he was gone again. No hope this time of getting him back.

Sam would be using the bag at the office, but Kensi had a bag of her own.

She didn't wrap her hands or put on her gloves—reckless, but not careless or forgetful—she wanted to feel every strike.

The first blow was a jolt, the second a slap, but by the third, each one was a balm. Sound, sensation, shock, muscles moving, jab jab, jab jab, kick. Over and over until she wasn't anything but the puffy, aching skin over her knuckles and the bruises on her shin bones waiting to rise to the surface. Over and over until she could no longer see the pool of red spreading under Dom's head.

When she couldn't stand anymore, Kensi sat, all at once, hugging the bag to her chest, letting it hold her weight. Her phone rang six times and went to voice mail. Her cell beeped. Sometime later, it beeped again.

When she couldn't sit anymore, Kensi dragged herself upright, praying she'd set the bolts deep enough in the ceiling beam, praying Dom hadn't suff—just praying.

It hurt to walk, hurt to breathe, but she walked, and she dragged air into her lungs and let it out again and she didn't let herself see the headscarf soaked in Dom's blood in the red-checked dish towel hanging on the stove when she walked past the kitchen.

A shower seemed impossible, so Kensi filled the bath, standing with her back to the mirror watching it fill, seeing nothing but the shadows the water's turbulence cast on the bottom of the tub. At some point between when it was empty and when it was full, Kensi peeled off her clothes and climbed in. The water stung her shins and turned her hands into throbbing agony. She let them soak.

When the water went cold, Kensi turned on the shower and opened the drain. The jets landed on her belly and her pubic bone, tickly-tingly heat. Unbidden, her hips shifted, her legs spread, just enough that the water fell on her clit. A different kind of jolt. More blood rising to the surface.

It wasn't what she wanted, didn't feel right or even good, but Kensi didn't move and didn't shut off the water. She breathed, and rocked her hips, and stared at the cracked tile next to her shower caddy, and let her body have its physiological response to the stimulation.


End file.
